by S. Ann Cole
In the third round, Tripp attacks without mercy and in less than fifteen seconds, he knocks out his opponent with a swift but unerring flying knee.
“YES!” Trent explodes from behind me, piercing my freaking eardrums. “Motherfucking KO!”
Shouts the man who supposedly “hates the sport.” I can’t help smiling.
Celebrating his victory, Tripp jumps up on the fence of the cage, straddling it, and beats at his chest. With an abrupt pause, he lifts his hand above his eyes to shield them from the light, and I can tell the moment he spots us. He points a finger right in our direction and grins proudly, then makes a show of flexing his muscles.
Maggie and I scream and wave back, bellowing his name with the rest of the crowd.
Reporters and promoters spill into the cage, and what ensues are lengthy acknowledgments and Q and As with both fighters.
Trent pokes my side. “We should get a head start out of here before it gets crazy.”
I twist so he can hear me. “There won’t be more fights?”
“Don’t think so,” he replies. “Also don’t care. Just came here to see Tripp.”
To be honest, I don’t care either. Tripp’s fight was a rush, but the need for sleep is pacing back and forth with crossed arms behind my eyes.
So, much to Maggie’s sulking disappointment, we leave the VIP area and begin squeezing through the crowd which seems to have gotten thicker.
It takes us a while, but we’re almost at the exit when someone starts shouting Trent’s name over the noise.
With me tucked protectively into his side, Trent stops and pivots to glance behind us.
The crowd parts, allowing passage for Tripp and a group of men. “Finally, you fucker!” he shouts with a grin as he moves in and hugs his big brother.
Trent releases me to hug him back. “Good fight,” he says, slapping his back. “It was definitely…something.”
“You should have told me you were coming,” Tripp says, pulling back. “I would’ve left free passes for you and got you front seats.”
“No worries. VIP was fi—”
He breaks off when Tripp scoops me up in ginormous hug, lifting off the ground and making me squeal. “Sexy Lexi. Are you the one I gotta thank for getting his grumpy ass here?”
“It’s the other way around, actually,” I say through a laugh as he sets me back on my feet. He’s all sweat and blood.
“Been meaning to come say hi to you,” he tells me. But between work and training…”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve been a boring old spinster these days, so you aren’t missing anything with me.”
He looks me up and down grins deviously. “Tor’s gonna punch a wall when he sees how much hotter you’ve gotten.”
I don’t get to complete a full eye-roll because a gasp is knocked out of me when I’m abruptly jerked to Trent’s side again. When I glance up at him with a disapproving scowl, he’s glaring at Tripp.
“Wait, Glades?” Tripp says, ignoring his brother’s glare and shifting his attention to Maggie. “Magnolia Glades?”
“In the flesh,” Maggie replies with a nervous wave, which pulls a frown from me. Why is she so coy all of a sudden, as if Tripp is some sort of a celebrity or something? We went to school together. He was a year below us and a complete hothead. What’s she all shy about?
“Damn girl,” he says, taking her hand and twirling her. “Been some years, but I like what I’m seeing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Trent grumbles under his breath. He wants to get out of here. I can feel the irritation and impatience vibrating off him.
“Hey, we’re having a celebratory party at my place. You ladies should come.”
“No thanks,” Trent says without hesitation.
“No one’s inviting your moody ass,” Tripp shots back. “I said ladies. You grow a pussy overnight?”
“They’re not coming to your—”
“I’ll come!” Maggie jumps in, lit up with excitement.
Tripp takes her hand and kisses the back of it, like the gentleman he is so not.
Maggie looks to me, her smile both eager and sheepish. “Oh, you don’t mind, do you, Lexi?”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I wave her off, then tell Tripp, “Next time, old friend. I’m too tired. Your brother all but dragged me here tonight.”
“Boo.” He sticks out his bottom lip. “Don’t hang out with this one too much if you wanna stay young, though, Lexi. He’s a fucking wet blanket.”
Trent ignores him and gets out his wallet. He withdraws two Benjamins and hands them to Maggie. “Cab fare in case this fucker doesn’t arrange a ride to get you home.”
Tripp slings his arm around Maggie’s neck and pull her to him. “Don’t you worry about sweet Magnolia. I’ll take real good care of her.”
Trent grunts. “Have a good one brother.”
“Great fight, Tripp,” I manage to get out as Trent turns and pulls me along with him. “Be safe, Maggie! Call me!”
As I struggle to keep up with Trent’s long strides, his grip firm on me, it somehow doesn’t feel like I’m with an old friend anymore, but like I’m with my owner.
Ever had that feeling before? No? Me either.
Until now.
I feel…safe.
When we’re at last out of the building and in the parking lot, the kiss of fresh air against my skin makes me realize just how hot and overcrowded it was inside that dome. It’s a relief I didn’t know I needed.
Trent opens the door for me when we get to his jeep and I climb in.
“You good?” he asks me once he’s inside, firing up the engine.
His dark eyes are intense on me, so interested in my imminent reply. And all of sudden I’m self-conscious. Something I’ve never been with him—or anyone for that matter.
I can still feel the brush of his fingertips along my neck, the gentle squeeze of his hands at my hips. And a very bad, very dirty, very sinful part of me wants more of those touches. So much more.
Elbowing the absurd thought away, I clear my throat and focus on putting on my seatbelt. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I just didn’t realize I wanted to be out of that building until I was out, if that makes sense. Like, I was fine in there and all, but once I was out it felt like a relief.”
I’m babbling. Big time. And Lexi Flores doesn’t babble.
“Yeah,” he mumbles in a tone that conveys he understands exactly.
As he begins backing the jeep out of the parking lot, my purse chirps and vibrates with a text notification. I slide my phone out to check it.
Maggie: Sorry for ditching you! It’s just been a while since I’ve had any fun.
Lexi: By fun, do you mean sex?
Maggie: Well… Tripp is looking HOTTT so a one-night stand isn’t off the table *wink emoji*
Me: You wanna bone Tripp? Seriously? Come on. He’s…TRIPP!
Maggie: He’s no little hot head Tripp anymore. From where I’m standing, he’s alllll man. So. Much. Hotness. And I’m getting me some of that.
Me: Ugh. *eyeroll emoji*
Maggie: Lol. Get home safe. I’ll upload the fun to my IG stories.
“That your girl?” Trent asks.
I slip my phone back into my purse. “Uh huh.”
“If I know my brother, she’s not getting back to the house until late afternoon or night tomorrow. If you still got hang-ups with being at the house by yourself, I can take you to my place instead,” he tells me.
First he caresses my neck, and now he wants to take me to his house. Is he low-key trying to hook up with me? Were his touches earlier foreplay?
The only girl I ever saw him date growing up was Maggie, so I can’t attest to his seduction skills, but he is the same man with over a dozen Tiffany’s in his phone. And if the text messages I saw in his phone are any indication…
I don’t know. Everything is all muddled right now, from the flutters in my belly to his soft, teasing touches and my desperate need for sleep. In this current st
ate, there’s a high chance that if he tries to seduce me into his bed, I’ll let him.
Which is bad. Very bad.
What I need to do is get some sleep to breathe life back into my senses, then see how I feel in the morning.
“Where’s home?” I ask.
“Twelve minutes out. Santa Monica.”
“Really? I didn’t know you live this far out. Isn’t your office in downtown L.A.?”
“Yep.”
“And you don’t mind the traffic?”
He chuckles. “It’s L.A. Whether I’m here or there, the traffic is still shit. Can’t get away from it. I just don’t drive during traffic-heavy hours.”
“Oh. Well, if it means I’ll get to a bed faster, then I’m cool with staying at your place for the night.”
It is not twelve minutes like he claimed, but thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds. Yes, I watched the clock. That’s how badly I need to collapse on a bed.
We careen up a steep lot and through the large gate of what appears to be a townhouse complex. The modern, boxy, glassy, slab-roofing kind of townhouses. The kind you just know cost an arm, a leg, a kidney, and a piece of liver.
Trent drives down to the last house at the end and swings into the covered, two-car parking space instead of the garage. Makes sense that the cul-de-sac home would be his, overlooking everyone else while being aloof.
I’m out of the jeep before the engine is even off, yanking open the back door to get my pillow. Then I look up at the house and pause. It is so confusingly modern I’m having trouble pinpointing the front entrance.
Trent laughs at my confused expression. “Come on, sleepyhead.”
I follow him up the wide concrete stairs, a quick left and…ah, here’s the door. He lets us in, and I’m engulfed by space. So much space. Modern, clean, and straightforward. Utilitarian. Nothing fancy, decorative, or sentimental. Almost minimalistic. As a result, I’m able to move around his space with ease and appreciate the architecture.
A humongous cloud couch takes up the majority of his living area. It looks so welcoming and comfortable that I sigh. Across from it, on the wall, is a massive flat screen—at least a hundred and fifty inches—to complement it.
“I don’t need to go any further,” I say out loud. “This is where I’m sleeping tonight.” Then I pause, taking in the wall of windows. “Wait, are all these windows privacy glass?”
“Yeah. One-way. Storm-proof and bullet-proof.”
“Perfect.”
Tossing my pillow onto the couch, I bend to unzip my boots.
Trent’s presence is hot at my back. A heat so forceful it could knock me over. “Need help?”
Determined not to be affected, I hold my balance. “Help taking my shoes off? I drank less than half a beer, Trent. I’ll manage.”
“Always so crabby with me,” he mutters. “I’ll leave you alone then.” At the same time I feel his presence shift behind me, his palm flattens to the middle of my back and shoves me.
A surprised squawk flies from me right before I lose my balance and topple face forward onto the couch, eating a mouthful of cotton.
“Fuffing affshole!” I shriek into the couch, words muffled. By the time I’ve managed to right myself, he’s nowhere to be seen. “This is why I hate you!” I call loud enough for him to hear from wherever the hell he is.
Once I have my shoes off, I set them aside and go in search of a bathroom. A lot of corners to turn in this very angular place. Bet the architect had fun with this one.
I pause at the foot of a staircase. Straight ahead is a hallway that ends in three directions. I spend an indeterminable amount of time contemplating whether I should go up the stairs or down the hall. Yeah, I’m either buzzed from that half a beer or seriously freaking tired.
I’m about to take the hall when Trent descends the stairs with a folded blanket and clothes. He holds them out to me. “You need another pillow?”
“Nah.” I take the clothes and leave the blanket. “Put the blanket on the couch for me, pretty please. And, uh, where’s the bathroom?”
He cocks his head to the hall. “Keep going. Last door.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure you don’t wanna sleep in one of the rooms?” he asks after me.
“I’m sure,” I say through a long yawn, my eyes watering. “That cloud couch looks divine.”
In the bathroom, I wash off my makeup, loosen my high ponytail to a top knot, then take a quick, hot shower before donning the plain white tee and Hugo Boss boxers Trent gave me. I have hips and ass, so his boxers fit me like a bumper shorts, but his tee swallows me up.
When I pad back out to the main area, his shoes are off and he’s in the open kitchen preparing something.
“You want a sandwich?” he asks after stuffing a piece of tomato in his mouth. “Tea?”
“What I want, Trenton Garza,” I start, diving onto the couch, “is a big, hot, well-seasoned bowl of sleep.”
His chuckle is silent.
I unfold the blanket and pull it up over me, then peek over at him moving about the kitchen. I lick my lips, and suddenly I’m thirsty. “Okay, I think I’ll take a glass of water.”
He flicks his gaze to me without lifting his head, giving me a look, but doesn’t say anything. He pours a glass of water and brings it over. “Wait,” I say, holding up a finger. I gulp down every drop of the water then hand the empty glass back to him.
As he takes it without a word and strides back to the kitchen, I fluff my pillows.
Pulling the blanket all the way up to my nose, I surreptitiously watch him finish up his sandwich. I think he knows I’m watching, though.
He’s good-looking. Sexy. It’s an indisputable fact. I’ve always known this. Even so, I’d only ever looked him over with a detached appreciation. Never with lust or a burning desire to rip his clothes off and lick his taut muscles.
Until now.
He’s not just “good-looking” or “hot” to me anymore. He’s now my deepest want. All of a sudden, looking at this man makes my nipples tight and my belly dip. I mean, what the hell? He’s Trent. I cannot stand him half the time. Yet all I can think about right now is spreading my legs apart and letting him slide between them. Wondering how it would feel to have him fill me…
“Why’d you bring Maggie along tonight?”
His abrupt question jolts me from my impure reveries. “Huh?”
His head down, focused on his task. Had I not been wet-dreaming, I would’ve known to pretend I was sleeping, because him addressing me lets me know for sure that he knows I’ve been watching him. Creep that I am.
“I invited you out tonight. Not Maggie,” he says. “Why’d you bring her?”
Hmm. I figured this would come up sooner or later. After all, he did give me the warning glare in the car earlier. “She was bored, and I didn’t want to leave her in the house alone.”
He licks something off his finger. “Sure that’s it?”
“What else would it be?”
He transfers his sandwich and tea from the counter to a tray. “That you’re scared.”
“Scared?” I emit a nervous laugh. “Of what exactly?”
He picks up the tray and walks out of the kitchen. “Go to sleep, Lexi.” When he reaches the column to a hallway off the kitchen, he pauses and gives me a knowing glance with a slight kick of a smirk, before switching the living area lights off. Leaving me in darkness.
Chapter SIXTEEN
“Shh. Not yet.”
Lexi
I don’t wake up where I fell asleep, but in a bedroom, on a king-sized bed, with soft sheets and pillows.
An overtly masculine bedroom, flexing its muscles with gray, black, and white accents, and dark hardwood floors. I don’t remember coming here.
The small clock on the mirrored nightstand tells me it’s quarter past one in the afternoon. Damn. The last time I slept like this was two years ago when I had a horrible flu and drank Theraflu. I’d slept so long I’d almost forgotten how
to walk when I woke up. This time it’s just natural exhaustion.
I stumble out of bed and pad to the en suite bathroom. More grays and blacks.
Finding new toothbrushes in the cabinet, I rip one open and clean my teeth, spying on the other items in the cabinets as I do. Nothing interesting. The usual toiletries. Bummer. A lack of unpronounceable medication proves his asshole behavior is not a side-effect of some underlying medical condition. He’s just a natural asshat.
After I’ve freshened up, I make the bed and head out of the room. Trent is nowhere to be found, so I take advantage of his absence and explore his house. It’s three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, with an office, and a basement that’s a man-cave slash gym. All clean lines and ultra-modern. Not what I would have guessed his style to be, but what do I know about him anymore?
When my stomach begins to grumble, I end the tour in the kitchen.
I’ve no clue where Trent’s disappeared to. It’s possible he works on Sundays as well. He might have told me and I might not have listened. Who knows?
Feeling too lazy to prepare anything, I opt for cereal. There’s none of the good stuff in his pantry, though. All kinds of shredded wheat and fiber-loaded crap. Blech.
Still, I pour myself a bowl of the one with the most sugar content and pad over to the cloud couch. Finding the remote, I power on the TV and go straight to Lifetime, because as predictable and cliche as their movies are, they’re still crazy addictive.
I’ve emptied the bowl of cereal and am contemplating going for seconds when I hear the front door open and close, followed by footfalls.
A few seconds later, Trent strides into the room in workout gear with a water bottle tipped to his mouth.
“Hey.” I sit up from my slouch. “Where have you been?”
He stops, regards me for several seconds, as if he’d somehow forgotten I was here, then shrugs. “Oh, just out doing manly man stuff. You know, gotta keep things tight.”